


A Picture Paints A Thousand Words

by deanandsam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU kind-of, Hell, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sam-Dean kind of, Season Ten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4615833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanandsam/pseuds/deanandsam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wants to pay his respects to a dead friend. Dean isn't on-board with the idea but he could never have imagined the encounter lying in wait for him there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“It's only twenty miles, Dean. At most it'll add an hour or so to our time.” 

“That's not the point, Sam. It's been nearly ten years now,” Dean grunted, unhappy with his younger brother's suggestion.  
“That IS the point,“ Sam countered. “We should go pay our respects as we're so near.”

Dean sneaked a glance at his brother, knowing beforehand what he'd see.  
And there it was, the earnest heart-felt expression which had always prompted Dean to do whatever Sammy wanted, well except on the few occasions when not even the puppy-eyes had overruled Dean's will, and that was usually when it concerned saving his baby brother's ass!

Sam sensed his sibling's near surrender and laid it on thicker  
“Pastor Jim was a good man and he died because of our family. He deserves a visit to his grave at least.”  
“Fine!” Dean sighed capitulating. He directed the Impala towards the next turn off for Blue Earth, Minnesota.

What Sam said was true.  
Pastor Jim had been a good man who hadn't deserved to die by Meg's hand but God, how Dean hated to stand over the graves of those he'd loved or counted as friends. Ganking spooks in a cemetery was one thing, feeling the tears fill your eyes as you mourned another altogether.

 

Pastor Jim hadn't undergone a hunter's burial.  
The parish had interred him in the little graveyard next to the church where the Winchesters were now standing, each brother paying their own personal homage to the man who'd entered their lives when they were small children and with whom they'd spent weeks off and on when John was too occupied with acquiring the hunting skills and information necessary to his obsessive hunt for Mary's killer.

Dean was the first to break the silence as the tears began to prick the back of his eyes.  
“I'm done here,” he mouthed gruffly to his brother,” I'll be inside the church when you're ready.”

Sam nodded in understanding. “ Give me another few minutes and I'll join you.”  
“Take all the time you want, Sammy. I wanna see just where that bitch murdered him.”

 

The inside of the church was cool and welcoming and Dean flopped bonelessly down on a pew.  
He should be immune to death and mourning by now. Hell he'd seen so much of it---- from Dad to Ellen and Jo, through to Bobby. He was so tired of it all but he knew it would never end, not until he himself was nothing but a pile of ashes or buried in some unmarked grave. He was fated to lose anyone who got near to the cursed Winchester brothers.

Melancholy sat heavily on his shoulders, and when the pain of a searing headache hit him, he was completely unprepared, his body tensing like a cord at the unexpected agony.

Thankfully it lasted only a few moments before an image imprinted itself on the inside of his retinas, an image he recognised instantly, for it was none other than himself, Dean Winchester, a smiling clone dressed like some biker in skin-tight black leather trousers and an equally tight black shirt.

“Congratulations, man! Today's the big day!“ the leather-clad Dean chuckled. “Don't worry, you're not having a stroke. Sammy worked some of his vision channelling to let me communicate with you. Don't try to talk, this vision stuff only works one way. All you can do is listen while I sound off.  
You're probably wondering about the threads, black leather isn't our thing but sometimes you gotta dress for the occasion!”

Dean was wondering if he HAD just experienced a stroke, cos' otherwise what shit was this!

“I'll say it again, dude, you're NOT having a stoke! It's a kinda temporal phone call from me to me, “ the leather-clad Dean assured him.  
“I just wanted to cheer you up. I've been through it all. I remember sitting right there and feeling just like you do now, but it gets better Dean, believe me. So much better!  


Guess you're wondering about Sam, I know I would be, but the Sasquatch is right here.”

The image widened to include a smiling Sam Winchester dressed like his brother in tight black leather. “Hi, Dean, “ he said.

“This is gonna come as a shock, I know,” leather-clad Dean continued, resuming his monologue. “But don't be too shocked, it's not as bad as it looks.”  
The image re-focused to show Sam sitting on a intricately sculptured throne, shiny and black as the leather he was wearing, 

Church-Dean swallowed.  
What the fuck was gong on? He could feel panic beginning to grip him. He tried to shake away the 'vision', or whatever the crap this was, but the image of the black-clad Winchesters remained seared into his eye-balls.

“I'm not gonna tell you how, why or when, that would be interfering too much with the time-line. Well so Sam says anyway.”  
Leather-Dean halted to throw an affectionate grin at his brother who was slouched, long legs akimbo, on the tenebrous throne as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  
“But incredible as it may seem, this IS your future, Dean--- yours and Sam's.  


I get it's not the one you might have wanted or dreamed, nevertheless it is what it is. 

Somewhere along the line you decided that cooped up in one of heaven's box-rooms like jail-birds, reliving old memories for the rest of eternity wasn't the stuff of Winchesters.  
This,” he indicated the surroundings with his finger, “was the only alternative available to give you control of your fate, and it was what Sammy was destined for anyway. The position of 'Boy-King' was always his, he just had to reach out and grasp it.” 

Leather-clad Sam smiled, dimples gracing his cheeks, but didn't speak. This was clearly his brother's show. 

 

“You might be asking where Crowley is.  
Well let's just say though Sam's slated as the empathic one, he can be a vindictive little bitch when he wants, and,” Dean's face grew serious, “he--we couldn't forget Sarah's death, so Crowley's languishing in the worst corner of Hell, cos that's where we're broadcasting from, if you hadn't already guessed.“  
Leather Dean grinned “But don't worry, he gets regular visitors including yours truly. Not that he's ever happy to see me, I gotta say.”

Church Dean felt a dark treacherous thrill go through him. He'd been tortured in Hell for thirty years but when he'd taken up the scalpel of torturer, he'd learned to enjoy the giving of pain to the souls on his rack.

“Don't be horrified, Dean,“ his clone said, seemingly once again to read his mind. “ Is torturing evil souls really any different from killing shape-shifters or were-wolves? You don't have qualms about that, do you?  
Well, almost time for me to say good-bye, dude. Sammy can't keep this wave-length open much longer.  
There's just one more thing before I go.” 

Hell Dean turned toward his little brother, cupped a hand behind his neck and kissed him full on the lips, a kiss which Sam eagerly returned, his hand coming up to pull Dean even closer. 

Church Dean watched horrified as his and Sam's clones kissed passionately.  
THIS was his future? Sam, King of Hell with himself as his corrupt side-kick! Never gonna happen!  
As for this....... incest. It was the stuff of Becky Rosen and her ilk.  


He and Sam were brothers.  
They loved each other, would die for each other, but this....... was....just NO!

 

Hell Dean drew back reluctantly from Sam's touch, turning one last time towards his vision-prisoner.  
“You're disgusted and grossed out, I know,“ Hell Dean said, “but you'll learn different. After all we chose Hell, and what's a little incest compared to the atrocities we get coming in day after day. 

Make no mistake, Dean. This IS your future, and Sam and I have never been as good in our entire lives as we are right here, right now.  
So.... happy first day of the rest of your life,” his clone finished off enigmatically.

 

Just as suddenly as it had arrived, the vision disappeared, the last lingering image of his 'future self's smiling face dissipating into nothingness.

 

“Dean! Dean!” Sam's worried voice echoed in his ears as his head cleared completely. “For a minute there I couldn't wake you.”

Dean looked up at his brother, what he'd just experienced fresh in his mind, particularly the passionate kiss the hell clones had exchanged.  
He sensed something within himself shifting, remodelling, modifying its focus, and as he held Sam 's anxious gaze, he felt the heat building in his loins followed by a treacherous jerk of his cock.

The end


	2. Hell's Throne Room

“You think I scared him off, Sammy?”

“We're still here, aren't we? History hasn't been changed, not yet anyway, though I still don't get why you were so eager to talk with your past self, Dean. Any kind of temporal interference is dangerous. You know that.”

“Yeah, but I remember that day. I was feeling like a ten ton truck had fallen on my head. I wanted to give the poor guy a ray of hope. Let him know it all finished well.”  
:  
“That's debatable, at least for you back then, Dean. Anyway as he's you, he would have gotten here eventually,” Sam expounded logically. “There was no need to anticipate stuff.”

“Sammy, why do you always have to spoil things by being geeky?”  
:

Sam rolled his eyes. “Hell's most feared torturer, and you're just a big softy at heart.”  
“Pff!” Dean exclaimed. ”That ship sailed a long time ago. Nobody puts a foot wrong in this place any more!”

“That's only because everyone's shit-scared of you, Dean!”  
“Hey. I worked my ass off to get your demons in line while you were arranging the furniture!”  
“Re-working Hell, wasn't exactly arranging the furniture,” Sam objected, slouching back on the throne.

“It is when you have freaky mind-powers, little brother.”  
“Whatever,“ Sam pouted. 

“I hope the twin barrage of us ruling hell and me making out with you wasn't too much,” Dean mused, thinking of his past self again. “Maybe I should just have let him in on one.”

“That's what I call closing the stable door when the horse has gone,” Sam bitched. ”I told you contacting him was a bad idea.”  
A crackling tremor coursed though the throne-room.  
:  
“Don't get riled up little brother. Your inmates might be scared of me, but when you're in a filthy mood, the whole of Hell trembles.”  
:

“C'mere. I'll soothe your ruffled feathers.”  
Cupping his brother's neck, Dean kissed him soundly.  
They both loved exchanging kisses and Dean got a perverse pleasure in leaving Sam panting for more.  
Sometimes they would spend hours just enjoying each other's lips, mouth and tongue There was something so intimate that both got off on it.

Sam gasped as Dean straddled him without taking his mouth from his brother's.  
“You might be King of Hell, Sammy,” Dean panted in arousal, “but in the bedroom, I rule and you're my pretty little bitch.”

“You like being my bitch, don't you, baby?”  
“Yeah,” Sam murmured, reaching for Dean's mouth, but his big brother pulled back.

“Tell me Sammy. Tell me you love being my bitch.”  
“I love being your bitch,“ Sam repeated obediently, and meant it.  
Dean brought his lips back down on Sam's, glorying in the sensations of pleasure racing through his body.

Reluctantly, he pulled back.  
“We don't have time right now, little brother. Your minions are waiting for their big Kahuna to give the annual ceremonial show of his power, and we don't want to mess up that glorious black leather that shows off you ass so well. But afterwards,“ Dean lowered his voice until there remained only a husky whisper, “ I'll make you come like you never have before.”

Sam gulped. ”Promises, promises.”

“No, little brother. Certainties!” Dean vowed, passing a hand over his brother's groin. “I see little Sammy's eager to get with the party too.”

:  
“I'll leave you to it.” Dean said untangling himself from his brother. “You know I hate all this ceremonial hog-wash. I'll let your worshippers in, then go pay Crowley a visit. If he gets a double dose today, I'll put the blame on you for making me horny.”

Sam's face took on a fearsome glare. “I don't know why you bother. Let somebody else dirty their hands with him.”

“I enjoy a little torture now and again, keeps my hand in,” Dean grinned wolfishly.

 

He sauntered to the huge doors and opened them.  
The demons filtered silently into the throne room, their eyes fixed on Sam, and the ceremonial began.  
:

 

“Crowley! Thought I'd come and keep you company. Nobody seems to want anything to do with you, and I know how much you like a good gossip.”

Crowley cringed into the corner but there was nowhere to run.  
“I tried to intercede with Sam to get you some perks, dude, but he's still pretty riled with you. You made a seriously bad choice when you killed Sarah. Don't think he's ever gonna let you forget it.”

Crowley remained silent. There was nothing to say, no excuses to make. He'd said it all in the past and none of it had done him any good.  
Sam wanted him to suffer, and suffer was all he did.

“Bet you never imagined Sam would be the one to take your crown, huh? “ Dean said as he sharpened his razor.  
“You know, except for you, he's a fair ruler. Doesn't punish more that a soul deserves. Hell's better for having him. Too bad the same can't be said for you.”

As the scalpel penetrated his soul, Crowley howled, and back in the throne room, Sam's lips curled in pleasure at the sound.

The End


End file.
